This I Know, and I Would Follow You
by Sarosis
Summary: The Fellowship is setting out on its trek across Middle Earth to destroy the One Ring. But with death, fear and love battering at the fragile bonds between members, it seems like the Quest may be doomed to fail. Slow burn Aragorn x Legolas
1. Chapter 1

People shouldn't be so easy to hurt. Love is a dangerous game, and you cannot escape it without scars.

This Lord Elrond knew, and yet he also knew he would have to watch as those he cared about destroyed one another.

[ ~ ~ ]

Aragorn sat on the edge of the footbridge, one leg dangling over the edge and one leg pulled to his chest. The water rippled gently with the current, painted a pale pink-grey from the reflections of sky and Rivendell. He could hear the soft murmur and laughter from the Elves as they walked about the halls. He closed his eyes, tipping his head back to face the clouds. They had been turning purples and gathering for close to half of an hour now, the rain could not be far off. But for now, it was dry and pleasant, and Aragorn felt at peace.

The swish of robes from beside him made the Man lower his head and open his eyes. Brown outer robes, the inner ones a tan green, were in his peripheral vision. Aragorn rose, facing the old Elf.

"Lord Elrond." The Elf gave a deep nod in greeting, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Estel," Lord Elrond intoned. Aragorn copied his adopted father's pose. "What brings you out here with this weather upon us?" Lord Elrond gestured briefly to the sky. Aragorn turned back to the water.

"I do not know. Perhaps I long for quiet." A single raindrop splattered down onto the stone between them.

"My halls have known quiet of late," Lord Elrond mused. "I fear we can all sense a great darkness is returning." Aragorn looked sideways at the Elf as another drop of rain came down. Within minutes, the wind had picked up and leaves and rain alike were swirling in it. Drop after drop fell on Elf and Man as they made their way back into the halls of Rivendell.

Aragorn closed the door to his room behind him, soaked to the skin. Rain battered at the window of stained glass. On the wall to the left of the door was a trunk of clothes and other valuables. A mirror hung above it, a small table with a cloth, candle and bowl of water beside it. On the same wall as the door but to Aragorn's right was a desk, a bookshelf between him and it. In the far right corner of his room was a bed. A doorway leading to a small room for washing was centered on the right wall. The window was off centered slightly, to the left, of the opposite wall of the main door.

Wet hair clung uncomfortably to his neck as Aragorn made his way over to the trunk. He pulled out a clean red shirt and brown trousers, checking that his sword remained at the bottom out of habit. Aragorn undressed swiftly, removing his boots first before untying his clothing. He toweled off briefly before pulling on his dry clothes. Opting to go barefoot, he wrung out his damp hair and hung the cloth and wet clothes on the foot of the bed.

Aragorn sat down at his desk, hands clasped behind his head. The patterning of the rain was oddly soothing, he decided, eyes slipping closed. Songs and drawings could wait.

Aragorn awoke to a firm knock on his door and a crick in his neck. A glance to the window showed the rain had mostly stopped and night was starting to fall.

"Estel?" A soft, lilting female voice. Aragorn got up, rubbed his neck, and strode over to the door. Upon opening it, he found the Lady Arwen waiting on the other side. Suddenly conscious of being half-asleep with his hair a mess, Aragorn felt a light blush creep over his cheeks.

"My Lady." A smile graced Arwen's features.

"Surely you have not forgotten of the welcoming feast tonight. The Elves of Mirkwood shall be here soon, and Father wishes for you to guide the Prince around." Aragorn nodded slowly.

"When do they arrive?"

"Soon." Arwen smiled again, before abruptly switching the topic of discussion. "I hear tales of their wickedness and charming." She grasped Aragorn's shoulders. "But my heart shall remain yours, my love." Aragorn smiled in return, wrapping his arms around the Elf-maiden's waist.

"And mine shall stay loyal to you." Their lips pressed against each other's, a familiar embrace. At last Arwen pulled away, one hand resting on Aragorn's chest.

"Father will be expecting you," she murmured. Then with a swish of fabric and the press of her lips to the Man's cheek, she was gone.

Aragorn, now dressed in a leather jerkin over a brown shirt and black trousers, stepped down the stairs to where Lord Elrond and several unfamiliar Elves were gathered. His boots made little sound against the stone. When he reached the assembly of Elves, Lord Elrond put his hands on his shoulders.

"This is my adopted son Estel. Estel, these are the Elves of the Mirkwood Court. This is Lord Thranduil, and his son Prince Legolas." Thranduil was cold and menacing, scornful of the Man's presence. Due to this it was only natural that Prince Legolas was who caught Aragorn's eye. Remembering what Lady Arwen had told him, Aragorn approached the Elf.

"I am to guide you." He spoke softly, mindful of Lord Elrond and Lord Thranduil's conversation. Legolas's blue eyes fixed on the Man, but to his relief he nodded.

"You may lead," he said, voice high and musical.

Later that night at the feast, Aragorn was seated next to Legolas. The blond-haired Elf said little, but his laughter with his kin was like the purest of music. Aragorn found himself watching the Elf, delighting in his every move. At last, when the stars were out and the revelry was beginning to die down Legolas turned to him.

"You are very quiet, Estel. Does something trouble you?" Aragorn gave a small shake of his head.

"Nay, my prince. I am merely trying to find the words to describe your beauty." The candlelight did little to hide the pink dusting on Legolas's cheeks.

"You are very kind." The Elf took a sip of the wine. Then, "you are versed with the written tongues?" Aragorn nodded.

"I have always enjoyed them." Legolas met his gaze, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. He moved as if to speak, but the louder plucking of a harp string prevented this. Legolas rose gracefully, offering Aragorn a hand. The Man took it and began to lead the Elf towards where a dance was beginning. He was interrupted by a gentle hand on his shoulder and the smell of lavender.

"This is a couples' dance," Arwen said kindly. "Perhaps it would be wider as to not give our guests the wrong impression." Legolas let go of Aragorn's hand and spun him gently towards the She-elf.

"Of course, my Lady," he said smoothly. "Forgive me. My people's customs differ from yours. I did not mean to intrude." Arwen smiled.

"I take no offense, my Prince." With that she grasped Aragorn's hands and pulled him off, leaving Legolas to stare after them with a gaze full of longing.

It took many hours for the feast to truly wind down, and it was the early hours of the morning when at last the final guest departed for their rooms. Aragorn led Legolas along through the halls, the sounds of tipsy laughter echoing behind them. The two came upon a way to the outside as they made for Legolas's rooms.

"Estel, wait." Legolas touched Aragorn's arm, halting him. The Elf stared out at the moonlit garden, green leaves floating along the trickling water. "Let us go to the gardens instead. I am not yet tired." Aragorn frowned at him curiously, but did not offer up a complaint.

They walked at each other's sides through the garden, leaves brushing at their clothes. Legolas paused beside the flowing water, Aragorn stopping beside him.

"Nin mellon?" My friend? Legolas looked at him, his features softened by the moonlight.

"Cin ped- edhelen beautifullui." You speak Elvish beautifully. The Elf said quietly. "But then, you have been raised by Elves, have you not?"

"Aye," Aragorn whispered, feeling it unwise to break the spell of quiet placed over the garden. "There are days I can forget I am not one." Legolas smiled. He knelt, trailing his fingertips across the water's surface. Aragorn crouched beside him, and sighed. Legolas looked at him, confusion knitting in his brow. Aragorn gave him a hasty though tight smile.

"But I must not forget I am a Man," he said after a few minutes had passed. "Legolas."

"Hm." Aragorn took another breath.

"My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the Man murmured quietly. Legolas met his gaze in surprise. "And there will come a day when I must reclaim the throne of Men."


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Legolas saw Aragorn was at the council called by Lord Elrond to discuss the fate of Middle-Earth. The Man had become a Ranger, and had delivered the four young hobbits to Rivendell with the help of Lady Arwen. Legolas could not help but see the love in the Elf-Maiden's eyes, though he tried to not.

The representatives of Middle-Earth sat in a crescent moon, facing Lord Elrond. The Lord of Rivendell spoke long of the history of the Ring, and told the Council, "the Ring must be destroyed." Boromir of Gondor stood and told his story, saying the Ring was a gift, a weapon even. Aragorn cut in.

"The Ring has one master, and he is not present at this Council." Boromir snorted.

"And what would a Ranger know of such matters?" He spat. Legolas stood, an unknown and undesired rage beating in his breast.

"That is no mere Ranger of which you speak. That is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, and the rightful King of Gondor."

"Legolas." Aragorn said coldly in the tongue of the Elves. He gestured. "Sit down." The Man turned back to Boromir. He spoke now in the Common Tongue of the West. "I forgive your mistake. I am Isildur's heir, not Isildur himself."

The Council turned on itself soon after, each declaring another more fit to destroy the One Ring. Legolas would not permit a Dwarf, and a young one at that, to dare shame him.

"I will take it." A voice cut through, reaching each being present and tugging them back to their senses. Slowly, the Council turned to the young hobbit.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor," he continued. "Though," and here his voice grew soft, "I do not know the way." Gandalf the Grey, dread lining each wrinkle on his face, moved to stand behind Frodo.

"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear." Aragorn walked forwards next, and knelt.

"If by my life or death I can protect you, I will. You have my sword." Legolas stepped forwards.

"And my bow."

"And my axe!" The auburn-haired dwarf agreed, brandishing his weapon.

"Aragorn. Aragorn!" Legolas broke into a light jog after his friend, who strode on as if he did not hear. The Elf quickened his pace and grabbed the Man's arm. "Estel." Aragorn halted his movement, giving Legolas the chance to speak.

"Why do you flee, non mellon?" _My friend?_ Legolas let go of his grip on the Ranger's arm. "What do you have to fear?" Aragorn shook his head, glancing around the empty hallway with unease.

"Not here," he said in a fervent whisper, and strode a few steps. "Come, Legolas," he said in the same urgent tone. Legolas took a few hesitant steps after him. Aragorn turned and broke into a jog, and so Legolas did too.

They reached Aragorn's old rooms soon after. Once Legolas had stepped inside, Aragorn took a key from the desk and slid it into the keyhole, locking the door. He replaced the key on the desk, and breathed deeply.

"You are familiar with the Lady Arwen?" Legolas nodded once.

"Yes. We are old friends. I hear there are rumors around Rivendell that you are in love. I believe bets have been placed as to when you elope." He smiled, then faltered as he saw the pain on the Man's face. "I jest, my friend. No more." Aragorn leaned heavily on the desk, his arms braced and his head bent. Black hair blocked his face.

"I do not wish to hurt her," he said finally, into the quiet. "But I do not wish to lead her on. In truth I may love another, but 'tis someone I fear may never want me." Legolas did not speak.

"Will you answer if I ask who?"

"No," Aragorn said. "I am sorry, my friend. But this is one secret I cannot share." Silence. One of Legolas' hands picked at its palm. Aragorn remained hunched over his desk, pain, fear and grief etched into lines if his face. Legolas crossed the distance between them in two strides. He lifted the chin of the Ranger, turning his head to face the Elf.

"I will not pry. But know this, Aragorn. I will stand by your side through whatever may cross us on our path to Mordor." The Man have a weak smile.

"This I know, Legolas," he said in a whisper. The edges of Legolas' mouth curled up, and he cradled his friend's face with his left hand, for his right was still under the Ranger's chin. Elf pressed his lips to the forehead of the Man, then retreated a step.

"Come," he said. "Surely this room holds lingering memories, many of them painful. Let us go and explore the gardens of Rivendell before dawn rises tomorrow, and we must leave." Aragorn gave a weary smile, and relented.

Man and Elf wandered the halls, taking in each moment. At last they reached a small terrace, facing out over water and a path below it. This path held benches, shrubbery placed between each.

The moonlight illuminated each being, painting him a kinder and softer shadow of himself. For a long time they did not speak, watching only the stars dance on the water, feeling only the warm wind whispering around them.

It was Aragorn who broke the silence.

"Thank you."

He did not have to say for what.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had not yet breached the horizon when they set out the next morning. Legolas strode at the front of their party, Gandalf ahead of him. Behind him Gimli, son of Gloin walked, Boromir of Gondor next. Aragorn had taken up the rear, the hobbits sheltered between himself and Boromir. Sam was leading their baggage-leaden pony, Bill. Aragorn fingered the pendant he wore at the base of his throat. His attempt to convince the Evenstar to keep it and her life had failed. And yet, with luck, perhaps she would go into the West and remain there, glad.

The Fellowship trudged on as the day waxed and waned. The sun reached its peak and came tumbling down again. As it began to settle down and the sky was streaked with red and orange, the nine companions started to think of halting for the night. The lands around them were riddled with low hills, dry, waxy bushes and small trees littered the ground.

Aragorn moved ahead, the long shadows of the trees offering him concealment. His cloak aided in concealing his form. Not far behind could he hear the rest of the Fellowship as they walked on, all searching for a suitable campground.

The place the Company chose was a dip between two low hills. They did not dare risk a fire, for fear the smoke may be seen. Pippin shifted uncomfortably and sighed for the twentieth time in his bedroll. Aragorn, who had drawn the first watch and had moved to the top of a nearby hill, watched him. Satisfied it was nothing more than a troubled sleep, he turned his gaze back to the lands around them.

The moon painted all a silvery grey that hosted great shadows. There was the sound of wind on the dried grass and the noise of bugs. Mice skittered to and fro, scrabbling for food. Aragorn saw no sign of Orcs, and so he made himself familiar with the night sounds, trusting that if one should change, he would be wary.

This was how Boromir, Man of Gondor, found the Ranger as he came to relieve him of his duties on watch; watching the calm night that lay around him.

"Any sign of pursuit?" Boromir's voice was quiet and his hand was on his sword. Aragorn gave a small shake of his head as he remained crouched in the grass, Boromir standing behind him.

"None but the wind." He rose and brushed the grass from his hands, moving to stand beside the other Man. "What woke you?"

"A dream." The pause stretched on. Aragorn looked sideways at him. Boromir returned the look with a scalding one before softening. "I saw the White City falling. The towers and people burned as I stood there, helpless. My brother Faramir perished in the flames." Aragorn was silent. Then he placed a hand on Boromir's shoulder.

"We will not let that happen, my friend." Boromir shrugged his hand off before it could linger.

"It was only a dream, Aragorn." He strode a few paces away, the message clear. Aragorn moved back down the hill to the camp. He unrolled his bedroll and wrapped himself up in it. The stars gleamed in the sky above, but he found little comfort in them. The feel of Boromir's jerkin lingered on his hand, and he cradled it to his chest, wishing the scent too had stayed.

The next night it was feared they heard Riders, and so it was decided they would not travel by day.

The Fellowship continued on in these dry, hilly lands for three weeks before they reached the base of the mountains. There was a pass, the Pass of Caradhras, that would see them through the mountains.

It was another four days before they halted, perhaps a third or a half of the way up to the pass. The sun was beginning its descent in the sky. Boromir was teaching the two younger hobbits how to wield their swords while Aragorn looked on. Samwise was cooking sausage and tomato in his make-shift campfire. Gimli was staring out over the valley below them as Legolas walked quietly around, no footfall disturbing the ground. Gandalf say on a large, smooth rock, smoking, as Frodo sat on a lower one closer to Aragorn, watching the sparring.

The Ranger watched too as he prepared his pipe for lighting. A new match had begun. Pippin blocked two of Boromir's strikes before the Man was tackled by Merry.

"For the Shire!" Boromir went down, laughing, as Pippin too cast away his weapon and joined in.

"The Shire strikes hard," the Man said in jest. Aragorn could not help a chuckle at the scene before him. Hearing his amusement, Boromir looked over. Their gazes met, grey eyes meeting grey. Boromir's expression darkened momentarily, then was split with a grin. Aragorn returned it.

It was Gimli who broke the cheer. He stood on a rock, leaning on his axe.

"That," he remarked, "is quite an odd cloud." The members of the Fellowship halted their activities and looked towards the Dwarf. Legolas bounded up to the edge of the mountain, shielding his eyes.

"That is no cloud," he said in worry. "Those are birds, and black are their wings." Gandalf's brow furrowed.

"Saruman." He cried. "Hide!"

Aragorn sprang up and guided Frodo under to where a rock offered an overhang. Sam smothered the campfire and made for a bush, along with Gimli. Boromir and the two younger hobbits hid as Gandalf clambered down from his perch into cover. Legolas, swiftest amongst them, watched the sky as he rolled into a hiding place.

The spies of Saruman flew by overhead, calling to each other with voices and noisy flapping. When at last there was quiet, the members of the Fellowship emerged. Gandalf turned towards the mountain, dread painting his heart.

"So we are being watched," he said after a heavy moment had passed. Gimli now spoke up.

"Let us take the road to the Mines of Moria," he declared. "My cousin Balin will give us a royal welcome! Strong malt, roaring fires, roast meat falling off the bones!" But Gandalf shook his head and settled back upon his rock, pipe in his mouth again.

"No," he decided. The Wizard shook his head and took the pipe from his mouth. He looked towards the mountains once more. "No, I would not risk the Mines of Moria unless I had no other option." Aragorn felt a cloud of dread settle over his own heart. His gaze flickered to Boromir, whose face told him nothing.

The next morning they broke camp and began the task of reaching the Pass of Caradhras. The ground was uneven at some places and smooth at others. Stone, dirt and dry shrubs seemed to make up the landscape. The occasional mouse scurried over booted feet. Aragorn, once again in the rear of the party, found himself watching the tawny-haired warrior who walked ahead. Boromir walked with purpose, yet arrogance as well. This arrogance might have driven the Ranger away, but instead he found a queer attraction to him.

Aragorn did not doubt the other Man could feel his eyes upon him, but he could not tear his gaze away for long. If nothing else, Boromir was like to be the biggest threat in the Fellowship. Already, he had shown an interest in claiming the Ring for himself and the land of Gondor.

The snow grew steadily deeper as they climbed higher. The Fellowship was struggling on as the sun climbed above them, seemingly chasing their steps. Aragorn walked a handful of paces behind the Ringbearer. Frodo staggered on, the snow tugging him down. At last, he stumbled and fell, rolling several meters before Aragorn caught him.

At once, before he was even back on his feet, Frodo felt his neck for the Ring. Aragorn saw his panic as he could not find it. The sound of the soft clinking of the chain reached their ears. Boromir, Man of Gondor, slowly lifted the Ring and its necklace from the snow. The Fellowship watched in a nervous silence, each waiting for another to act first.

"It is strange," Boromir said softly into the quiet. "That we should suffer so much for such a small thing."

"Boromir," Aragorn cut in. "Give the Ring to Frodo." His voice was quiet, but offered no argument. The Man did not reply, gazing into the depths of the Ring.

"Boromir!" Aragorn called again, louder this time. The Man looked up, startled.

"Yes, of course," he said quickly and in a strange voice. He strode forwards to Frodo, and held out the Ring to the hobbit. Frodo snatched it back in an almost animal-like way. Boromir have a tight smile and ruffled the hobbit's hair. As his hand dropped, his gaze met Aragorn's. The Ranger watched him, unyielding.

At last, Boromir turned away. Aragorn dared to loosen his grip on the hilt of his sword only as the other continued walking.

It could have been a day or an hour later, it mattered not to their weary legs and tired bodies, that the Fellowship reached the entrance to the Pass. Gandalf stopped, giving one last, deep sigh. He looked over the party, reassuring himself that no one was missing. Satisfied, he returned them to their pace.

Aragorn kept an eye on Boromir, his trust shaken and his heart pounding in an unwanted fashion.


End file.
